


Unfinished Business

by teprometo



Series: 2015 Summer Pornathon [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has wanted to punch that smile off Arthur’s face ever since the first time he used it as a weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2015 Summer Pornathon's first challenge, [Cross](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/110182.html). It placed second in its group! This was inspired by the Battlestar Galactica episode "Unfinished Business" and also partially by the movie Girlfight. Thank you to [kaizoku](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku) for the beta!

_Jab, jab, block. Jab, hook, parry._

Arthur is a crowd-pleaser, throwing loud punches and showing off those new teeth of his, bitten tight around the mouthguard, puffing out his chest like a bird during mating season. The irony was never lost on Merlin, but especially not now with Gwen making him swish, knocking his head about and checking the tape on his wrists.

“Look at me,” Gwen says, because Merlin only has eyes for Arthur, fighting off his corner man, Leon, to flirt with the audience some more, and Merlin wants to split those wide, smiling lips with bare fists. Gwen slaps his cheeks, and he finally tears his eyes from Arthur.

“You are quick, graceful, fierce, a bird of prey.” She makes him spit, shoves the plastic between his teeth again. “He’s a turkey. He’s nothing. He’s _dinner_. Eat him up.”

He’d love to.

It’s a catchweight bout and doesn’t count for anything, but Merlin has wanted to punch that smile off Arthur’s face ever since the first time he used it as a weapon, that morning five months ago when Arthur had thrown Merlin’s shorts at his head and said, “No breakfast. I’m gonna shower; don’t join me.”

_Hook, uppercut, block, hook._

Merlin is an inside fighter, fast, observant, and good with a counterpunch. Arthur’s a hell of a lot stronger but not sure what to do when a man gets too close.

Merlin remembers the taste of Arthur’s cock, the smell of that sweet patch of skin in the crease of his hip, the sounds Arthur made as Merlin sucked him off, made him come undone.

Arthur bounces from foot to foot, waiting for the bell to start the fourth round, and Merlin knows how much Arthur likes to have his nipples pinched, that Arthur eats arse like the fucking champion he is. He’s lost in it, in the memory of fucking against Arthur’s pillow with Arthur face-deep in his arse, tongue sloppy and wet and so goddamn good around the two fingers he had shoved into Merlin.

_Jab, jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook._

Arthur gets Merlin on the ropes within seconds of the eighth bell, laying blows across Merlin’s ribs that don’t hurt as much as they ought to, and Merlin realises he’s pulling his punches.

 _You fucker!_ Merlin thinks, connecting his glove hard against Arthur’s chin, just enough to make Arthur stagger and let Merlin duck away, regain his footing, make Arthur come to him for once.

Merlin bares his teeth, feral at the memory of begging Arthur to fuck him, as though Arthur could be trusted with that raw, fragile piece of him. And Arthur had relented, held him down and filled him up, licked promises into Merlin’s neck. Arthur had been greedy for it, hungry for Merlin’s choked sobs, how much he needed this: _more, more, louder, tell me_.

_Block, block, block, block, block, block._

By the tenth round, Merlin is exhausted. Arthur’s punches are wide and wild, and there’s nothing behind them. Merlin gets him in a clinch, holds him close, absorbs the last of Arthur’s energy in his ribs, already bruised and aching, but not so much as the soft part of him they’re meant to protect.

“I know how you fight,” Merlin says around his mouthguard, muffled and unintelligible even to himself, but Arthur hears him. Arthur understands. “That’s why you can’t win.”

Merlin shoves Arthur away and throws everything he has into a right cross, hitting Arthur square in his smug jaw, and he falls in slow-motion.

Arthur is down and out.

Time dilates after Merlin is declared the winner. A dozen people jump into the ring, lifting Arthur’s eyelids to shine lights in his eyes, turning faces to and fro, inspecting ribs. Leon is still fussing over Arthur after the doctors have deemed him sound, and Gwen chases him off, leaving Merlin alone in the ring with Arthur.

 _Eat him up_ , Gwen had said, but all Merlin wants to do is sleep. People are streaming out of the arena, and Merlin is unsteady on his feet. He falls to his knees, spits out his mouthguard, curls up on the mat next to Arthur.

Arthur flops his head over to face Merlin and just looks at him, teeth red with blood when he smiles, but his eyes crinkle with it, loosen the tightness in Merlin’s chest.

“You’re awake,” Merlin says, inches closer. “You look like shit.”

Arthur throws a heavy arm over Merlin’s chest and says, “How about breakfast?”


End file.
